


Unwritten

by sasha_b



Series: Live By The Sword [26]
Category: King Arthur (2004), Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 12:52:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1186415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Live By The Sword ‘verse.  The beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unwritten

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Amari Z and Gissey for their beta work and typo slaying. Title and lyrics from Natasha Beddingfield's song.

_Staring at the blank page before you/open up the dirty window/let the sun illuminate the words that you cannot find/reaching for something in the distance/so close you can almost taste it/release your inhibitions_

 

 

The school was large, much larger than the one Arthur had attended the years previous. He could kill his father for making him transfer his senior year. All of his friends, his classes, his teachers – left behind.

He’d be graduating with relative strangers and that pissed him off.

It also made him sad, but he wouldn’t admit that outloud.

He tried to not seem obviously new, but he managed to bump into two girls and step on a very large guy’s shoe while looking at the map in his hand. He apologized profusely, and hustled away before the dude could stomp him for daring to touch his Chucks.

He found a somewhat less crowded corridor, and took the opportunity to breathe and try to locate his class on the map. It looked like it was just a few halls away.

Tucking the paper away, he headed off in what he hoped was the right direction, passing a few unmarked doors, then the boy’s bathroom.

Thinking he’d better take a short detour before getting stuck in some interminable class (or god forbid PE), he pushed open the bathroom door and stopped dead in his tracks.

A slender, dark haired boy maybe a year or two younger than him was lying on the floor, two larger guys standing over him. One of the bigger kids sent a heavy soled boot into the guy on the floors’ gut, the sound that echoed from the victim making Arthur wince.

“Asshole,” the other big kid said, and Arthur noticed a long, thin pipe-like object in the bully’s hand.

“Hey,” he said, but neither of the guys looked at him. They were too intent on their target, who had struggled to a sitting position, his long-fingered hand wiping blood off his chin.

“That the best you can do?” the smaller boy sneered, spitting as he tried to rise. “I’m still standing, here. Won’t that fuck your reps up, guys?”

“Shut up, _Lancelot_ ,” bully number one said, his meaty fist striking the bleeding kid in the jaw faster than Arthur could blink. “Sissy. You’d give it up faster than your sister, I’m thinking.”

“Don't you dare talk about her,” the dark haired boy snarled, and then launched himself at bully number two, surprising him as they both crashed into the wall, the mirror mounted there shattering with the impact.

Arthur couldn’t just stand there and watch some guy so obviously outmatched take a harsh beating, so he dropped his book bag and called out again.

“Get off him.” He strode quickly to the fighting pair and jerked on the bully’s arm, trying to drag him off the one called Lancelot.

The two bullies finally noticed Arthur, and Arthur realized too late that he had just inserted himself into a situation he knew nothing about. They turned on him, ignoring their original target, both with predatory smiles that made Arthur worry about his sanity.

_Oops._

He held up his hands, and tried to look non threatening. “Two against one’s hardly fair.”

“And you care because?” bully number one asked, cracking his knuckles as he moved toward Arthur, an ominously excited look on his face.

“No reason,” Arthur said, unintenionally backing away, “it’s just – well, aren’t you being a little stereotypical? I mean, bullies in a bathroom?”

“Hey,” Lancelot said, sounding almost petulant. “I don’t know him. I don’t need any help protecting myself, thanks very much,” he hissed, standing fully, wavering only slightly. Arthur thought that for a smaller guy, he wasn’t going down easily.

He had about two seconds to contemplate that before bully number two swung out quickly with his hand, his fist connecting with Arthur’s skull with a loud clunk sound that brought to mind cartoon animals with cartoon birdies floating around their heads.

He sank to his knees. Just as everything was going black, the last things he saw were the shapes of the two older kids turning their attention back to Lancelot, the long metal pipe in their hands held ready to strike.

*

“Hey.”

Arthur cracked one eyelid, then groaned, and shut it.

“Hey, you. Wake up.”

A hand shook his shoulder, and he opened both his eyes this time, pupils contracting quickly due to the bright light shining from the ceiling. “Wha?” he asked intelligently, pushing himself to a semi sitting position on shaking arms.

The boy that had been the object of the bullies’ attack, _his name’s Lancelot_ , was sitting against the tile wall, one arm behind him in a strange position. Arthur blinked a few times, and then raised a hand, touching behind his ear gingerly.

A nicely large goose egg was growing there, and he dropped his hand quickly, moaning at the nausea he suddenly felt.

“You okay?” the other boy asked, and Arthur nodded. Then groaned again. “I have a bump, but I think I’ll live,” he croaked, then cleared his throat. “A giant bump. Is there a nurse in this school?”

“Yeah,” Lancelot sighed, flopping the hand that wasn’t behind his back in the direction of the door. “Down the hall there somewhere.”

Arthur finally managed to focus his eyes, and he got his first good look at the other kid.

  
Despite the bruises that were beginning to show, his features were obviously distinct, high cheekbones and full lips (not in part due to the beating), wildly curly hair and intense dark eyes the first things Arthur took in.

Arthur wasn’t one to ignore something pretty, but he usually didn’t have this strong a reaction to other boys. He coughed, and glanced downward, at the boy’s hands. The fingers were long and slender (like Lancelot himself), but strong looking.

“What the fuck are you staring at?”

Arthur’s eyes snapped back to the other boy’s face, and he noticed a slight tinge of red staining his cheeks. “N-nothing,” Arthur answered quickly, rubbing at his head again. “You’re Lancelot?”

“Lance,” the brown haired boy corrected, his face darkening. “Only my family calls me by my full name. And who are you? I haven’t seen you around here before.”

Arthur sat up fully, and moved slowly toward Lance. He wanted to check the other boy’s injuries. “Arthur. Arthur Castus,” he answered. A weird barking sound came out of Lancelot’s bruised mouth.

“Your name is _Arthur_?” He laughed. “Well, shit. I’m sure we were meant to be friends.”

  
Arthur rolled his eyes and knelt next to Lance. “Let me see your face,” he requested, and reached out a hand. The other boy cocked a well-groomed eyebrow but agreed silently. Arthur touched the purpling mark on Lancelot’s cheek, and Lance hissed at the slight pain it caused.

Then he shut his mouth, and his dark eyes tilted up to meet Arthur’s confused green ones.

  
Arthur’s fingers stayed on Lancelot’s cheek; he stared at the other boy, the expression on his face echoing the one on Arthur’s. Lance’s brows drew together, his lips compressed, but he didn’t try to move away from Arthur.

In fact, Lancelot’s hand rose and covered Arthur’s, holding his fingers there.

They stared at one another, each unable to look away.

The bell rang.

“Fuck,” Lancelot jumped, and Arthur dropped his hand. “Can you check my back? It feels weird.”

Arthur shook his head, feeling strangely muzzy, then nodded. “Sure – can you turn around?”

  
The other boy twisted, and cried out as Arthur’s hand touched his back, feeling for cuts or large lumps. He jerked it back quickly.

“Shit – can you walk, Lancelot?” Arthur was trying for a calm tone, but he wasn’t sure it was going to sound that way. He tried to hide his bloody hand, but Lance caught sight of it. His eyes widened, then his lips tugged into a smirk.

“Assholes. If they tore my shirt,” he said, struggling to get up. He frowned at Arthur. “And I told you not to call me that.” Arthur ignored Lance’s annoyance, and got closer to him.

Arthur slid his arm around Lance’s waist, pulling him to a standing position. Lance cried out again, this time a little more quietly, and Arthur’s shoulders twitched in sympathy.

  
“Come on,” he said, forcing Lance to move, “nurse. Now.”

Lance didn’t argue; he merely allowed Arthur to lead him out of the bathroom, and down the suddenly crowded hall. The other students stepped out of their way – and none offered to help. Arthur made a mental note of that fact as they reached the medical office.

As Arthur pushed open the nurse’s door with his foot, Lance suddenly snapped his head up, staring at Arthur. “Where did those fucks go?” he asked sharply. Arthur shook his head; the two bullies had been apparently gone before he had woken. Along with the pipe it looked like they had hurt Lancelot with.

“Don’t know,” he grunted as he almost carried the smaller boy inside. “Don’t care right now, really.”

The nurse came running at the sight of Lance in Arthur’s hold, and Arthur forgot about the bullies as the nurse roughly grabbed Lance from Arthur’s hands.

*

School had emptied out rather quickly after the final bell had rung; Arthur sat in the waiting room outside the nurse’s office, chewing on his thumbnail.

“Lance? Lancelot?”

The main door to the room burst open, and a tiny brunette slammed inside, eyes wild and long hair in disarray. She looked as if she had run a marathon to get there. She eyed Arthur, advancing on him.

“Who are you? Where’s Lancelot?”

Arthur stood up as the girl got near him. “Uh – I'm Arthur,” he said quickly. “Lancelot – er, Lance is in the nurse’s office. His back is hurt."

“What the hell happened?” she asked, the fire going out of her. She plopped into one of the chairs, her expensive bag dropping to the floor. Her dark hair and waifish appearance made her look weak and tired, but Arthur had a feeling this girl could take on more than two bullies and survive easily. He sat next to her, his hand tentatively patting her arm. She gave him a look, and he removed his hand.

“I found him in the bathroom, with some other guys. Two against one isn’t fair,” Arthur sighed, fingering the lump behind his ear. The nurse had pronounced him concussion free, then had given him some painkillers.

He wasn’t sure why he was still hanging about, but he didn’t feel right just leaving. Especially now with this girl – Lancelot’s girlfriend? – not knowing what had happened.

If there was another reason for him to stay, he couldn’t name it. But he knew he had to. He’d figure out the why’s later.

“Boy, you’re an idiot,” she laughed, a dark sound that made Arthur’s ire rise. She looked at him, and something in her expression seemed familiar. “He’ll have your balls for that for sure. Nobody helps the great and all powerful Lancelot and gets away with it.”

Arthur cocked an eyebrow. “Are you his girlfriend?”

Another laugh, this one more genuine. “No, I’m his sister. Guinevere.”

Ah – that was the similarity he had noticed. Arthur smiled, and ignored the strange feeling of relief that washed over him.

“Guinevere and Lancelot?” he grinned. She rolled her eyes. “Yes. My parents are endlessly amusing,” she answered. “Besides, Arthur, you shouldn’t be making fun. You fit right in our twisted little group.”

“Uh, yes,” Arthur said, his eyes crinkling from his smile. “Although technically, Arthur’s not my real name.”

Guin turned in her seat, and rested her chin in her hand. Arthur noted that her hands and fingers were long and slender like her brother’s, and, like Lancelot’s, also looked strong. Her face wasn’t as angular, but the high cheekbones and unusual features did show the genetic connection.

“And what is your real name?” she asked, showing perfectly white, even teeth. Arthur snapped his eyes back to her face.

“I don’t know you well enough to tell you that,” he dodged. He hated his name. His mother, God love her, meant well, but… One of these days he was going to legally change his name to just Arthur.

Guinevere laughed again. “What is it? Now you’ve got me really interested. Is it something horrid, like Francis or Lucius? Or wait! How about Errol? Or Clyde?”

“No, no,” Arthur echoed her laugh. “I’ll tell you eventually. Maybe. If we stay friends.”

“Are we friends?” she replied, lowering her lids and looking at him through her lashes. Her eyes were huge, beautiful and blue-green, and Arthur found himself mesmerized by her mouth, the full pink lips distracting.

“Guin, get off him,” Lancelot groused, the door to the nurse’s office having opened without either of them noticing. Arthur stood as Lance walked stiffly into the waiting room, the nurse at his heels.

“What did you do to Smith and Wesson to make them kick your ass so hard?” Guinevere asked Lance, her face angry, but her body taut and worried. Her hand rose, pulling back the ice pack Lancelot held over his eye, hissing when she got a look at the damage.

“Smith and Wallace,” Lancelot corrected woozily; he didn’t stop Guin as she looked at his back. “Fuck,” she sighed, and then turned on the nurse. “He needs stitches, you cow, not your backwoods Appalachian Emergency Room methods. I’m calling the ambulance.”

The nurse’s face purpled, but she admirably kept her temper in check. “Miss, the ambulance is on its way. He’ll be fine.”

“He will now,” Guin grumbled. She dug her phone out of her purse, and began speaking into it rapidly, Arthur catching the word “daddy” once. He made a face of apology at the nurse, who just shook her head. “Take him out to the front entrance,” she told Arthur. “The EMT’s will be here in just a few minutes.”

Lance thanked the woman, and Arthur took his arm, leading him out as Guin followed, still talking and carrying both her bag and her brother’s.

“You sure you’re alright?” Arthur asked as they pushed through the double doors at the front of the school. “You seem a bit green.”

Lancelot rolled his eyes. “Yes, mother. I’ll be fine. You sound like her,” he jerked his head toward his sister, then turned a little greener. “Remind me not to move my head so much,” he mock groaned, and allowed Arthur to sit him on a bench.

“What about you?” Lance asked. “How’s your lump?” He raised his hand and touched the goose egg behind Arthur’s ear lightly.

Arthur shivered uncontrollably despite the small amount of pain the touch caused. He canted his eyes sideways and met Lancelot’s gaze.

“Better,” he answered, his voice rough. He noticed Lancelot had a small amount of black in the brown of his irises. The other boy was breathing shallowly; Arthur could hear the rasping.

The siren from the ambulance reached their ears, and they both snapped their attention to the street and the arriving bus.

“My father’s a cop,” Arthur said suddenly, blankly, his face aimed at anything but Lance. “We had to move here for his job. He got a position in the Hills branch of the LAPD.”

He felt Lancelot’s small laugh. “You won’t like my father, then.” He stood as the ambulance pulled up next to their bench. Arthur followed suit, and waited with Lancelot and Guin as the EMT’s checked out Lance’s back, pronounced that he needed stitches, and began to load him into the back of the vehicle. Guin opted to ride in the front with the “cute mini-doctors,” winking at Arthur as she levered herself into the seat. He smiled at her, not really wanting to admit that he had been watching her move.

Arthur caught Lancelot’s eye before the last paramedic shut the doors of the ambulance. “I’ll call you,” the younger man said, his face somewhat white – his magnetic gaze trained on Arthur’s green one.

“How? I didn’t give you my number,” Arthur answered, really wishing he had.

  
“I will,” Lance repeated, a small smile decorating his mouth. Then the doors were shut, and Arthur was alone on the steps of his new school, on his first day – everything he’d seen or learned forgotten in lieu of the inky brown eyes of the strange boy named Lancelot.

*

“Arthur – Artorius!”

Arthur winced at the screech from his mother, and padded to the kitchen door. “Mom? Please, if you love me, don’t call me that,” he begged, going for his best innocent face. She just flapped her hand at him.

“Some boy on the phone for you,” she called as Arthur was sticking his head in the fridge, which caused him to bang his forehead on the edge of the freezer in surprise.

“I’ll get it upstairs,” he answered quickly, and took them two at a time. He passed his parents’ bedroom – his father was still out, thank God. Arthur stared at Uther for a moment, then gently shut the door.

“Mom, hang up,” he said into the receiver, and waited until he heard the click before speaking. “Hello?”

“Hey – Arthur.”

An unbidden smile stretched Arthur’s mouth. “Lancelot.”

“Don’t fucking call me that. How’s your egg?”

“My what?”

“Your lump, idiot,” Lancelot laughed. “Your head. How is it?”

Feeling stupid, Arthur laughed as well. He sat on his bed, crossing his legs under him. “Nothing that won’t heal. Besides, now I have a really good story to tell my grandkids.”

“You have grandkids? They must start them young up north.”

Another grin. “No, idiot,” he echoed. “When or if I have grand- it’s a figure of speech,” he ended lamely. “How’d you know where I was from?”

Lance chuckled, which made Arthur’s gut feel slightly strange. He shook it off to nerves; he never had had good luck making friends. And he really did want this guy to like him. More than any person he’d tried to be friends with before.

That was annoyingly odd.

“Believe me, my friend, I have my sources. So,” Lance paused mid sentence to breathe, “I owe you for dragging my beaten ass to the nurse. You free tonight?”

Arthur opened his mouth to say yes, but a loud crash followed by obscene cursing distracted him.

“Arthur! I need you – where the hell are you, boy?”

Arthur rolled his lips inward, pinching them together almost painfully. “I – I can’t, Lance. I’m sorry,” he replied awkwardly. “I really wish I could-”

“Arthur. Castus!”

“Dad, I’m coming,” Arthur answered, his throat suddenly tight, his hand over the phone receiver.

_New home, new school. Same old dad. How the hell is that fair?_

“Don’t worry about it,” the other boy breezed, but Arthur thought his tone was slightly off. “I’m sure I’ll see you in Jail.”

“Where?” Arthur answered, confused, and also preoccupied with trying to hear what his father was shouting at his mother.

“At school. Sheesh, Castus, do you ever listen?” Lancelot’s tone was petulant this time, and Arthur winced, even though the other boy couldn’t see him.

“I’m sorry, Lance. I really am – I have to go,” he spoke rapidly as the sounds from downstairs were amping up. God, his parents. He’d spoken to his dad – Uther knew his mom was sick! Arthur didn’t know what he’d do if he couldn’t convince his dad –

“It’s okay, Arthur,” Lance sighed dramatically. “I know I’m not as interesting as my bootylicious sister, but…”

“It’s not that! Seriously. I’ll call you. Soon. I have to go.”

Arthur clicked off the phone and hung it up, his eyes closing briefly.

_No life – no friends – no love – no escape._

One more year of high school – then, maybe, just maybe, college. And he’d be sure to pick the major furthest from what Uther wanted him to do, just to piss the old man off.

A crash from below, then the sound of glass shattering. Arthur leapt up off his bed, his anger boiling up from inside, surprising him with it’s vehemence. “Dad!” he gritted through clenched jaw, wrenching his door open. “Dad! What’s going on?”

*

It was a seemingly ordinary day, bright California sunshine pouring down on the almost too green grass. All of the guests had departed; Arthur stood alone in the cemetery, his legs splayed, his hands wound into themselves at his back. A few caretakers were about moving some machinery, one keeping an eye on the locked entry gate. Keeping the cemetary quiet and riot free was part of their jobs.

Arthur’s mother’s disease had progressed rapidly. That’s all he and his father were able to say about it. The few relatives that had made it for Lena Castus’ funeral hadn’t asked too much once they realized Arthur and Uther were going to be very closed mouthed about it.  
Arthur wasn’t sure he’d be even thinking about it much in the future. Not and be able to function.

One moment she was there, standing in the kitchen, lecturing him about doing his schoolwork, the next she was flopped on the tile, eyes rolled back in her head.

Brain tumors apparently could work faster than doctors said they could.

Arthur stared at the shiny new headstone, thinking about his father’s reaction as the doctor had explained just how little he could do for Lena, short of making her comfortable. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he also thought that he was really quite tired of cleaning up after Uther’s messes.

He was surprised the department had kept his father on so long. But then again, with Uther’s track record, they’d be stupid to let him go.

The next time he looked up, the sun had set and someone was standing next to him.

“Arthur,” Lancelot said, smiling. A genuine smile, not the normal smirk he wore. He was dressed in all black, black jeans and a sweater, and Arthur paid odd attention to the way it made his eye color pop. He stared at his friend for a moment, and then cast his gaze back on his mother’s headstone.

“She’d hate this thing,” he said quietly, hands loosening to gesture at the marble. “Too gaudy. She was quite simple.”

Lance laughed, and Arthur faced him again. “What?” he asked, anger making his handsome face look old. “What’s funny, you fuck?”

The younger boy shook his head, ignoring Arthur’s insult. “Arthur, my friend, your mother and the word ‘simple’ are about as similar as my father and ‘frugality.’ Don’t be angry,” he added, his hand grasping Arthur’s shoulder, unwilling to let go even when Arthur tried to wrench free. “She was lovely. I see why your father was so attached to her. I wish my mother was as brilliant as yours was.”  He frowned slightly, but Arthur didn't notice.

Arthur clenched his jaw until his eyes watered; Lance kept a hold of his shoulder until Arthur sighed, his posture slumping. “There you go,” the other boy said quietly. He moved them to a nearby bench, forcing Arthur’s knees to bend so he’d sit.

Lancelot narrowed his eyes, and turned sideways on the bench so he could watch Arthur more easily. Wrapping one arm around his knees, he rested his chin on it. “You want to get a drink?” he asked.

Arthur cocked an eyebrow, his body unwinding even more. He willed his spine to straighten up, but it just wouldn’t obey. Now that he was sitting, it seemed anything else was fair game. “Aren’t you going to ask me how I’m doing?” he said rather roughly, his mouth twisting in an ugly grimace. “I’m sure I could come up with some sort of platitude.”

“I’m sure you could,” Lance agreed, “but so could I. I don’t think we need that right now.” He examined his nails, seemingly calm, no cares in his head. Arthur’s anger began to boil again the more he looked at the other boy. He had everything – yeah, his mother lived in a different state, but he had his father (who didn’t drink to excess as far as Arthur knew) and stepmother, his beautiful, witty sister, his huge home, and his future basically set in stone for him. Being CEO of a big company didn’t sound too bad.

Arthur’s knuckles cracked; he glanced downward, surprised at the sound. He hadn’t realized he’d been wringing his hands.

“So, you want to get that drink? Or there’s a party at – damn, was that at Alec’s, or Justin’s – shit, I can’t remem-”

A snarl escaped Arthur’s lips, and before he could stop himself, he had sent his fist flying into Lancelot’s chin. The other boy’s head snapped back, an audible crack from Arthur’s punch echoing in the still air. Only Lance’s ultra fast grab on the back of the bench kept him from toppling over onto the grass.

Arthur’s breathing was coming in gasps; he stood, hands balled at his sides, face contorted. “You self-centered bastard!” he yelled. “No, I don’t want to get drunk. I don’t want to go to some guy’s party, either. My mother is dead. I would like to stay with her for a little while before I have to grow up and forget this.”

Lancelot wasn’t answering. In fact, he didn’t look upset, or perturbed in the least. He wiped the small amount of blood trickling from his lip off easily, and stood, his face a few inches from Arthur’s.

“You’ll never forget it, Arthur, because that’s not you. I’ve only known you for a short time, and hell, even I know that. You’d sooner take a summer holiday in Hell then give up some fraction of your guilt. Don’t frown at me,” he continued, stepping up to the other boy, their noses almost touching.

“This wasn’t your fault,” Lancelot murmured. “There’s nothing you could have done. She was sick. You didn’t kill her, you didn’t allow your father to kill her. It was just what happened. Please – Arthur.” He trailed off, lowering his head momentarily. Biting his lip, he looked back up at Arthur. The soft and open expression on his face was something that Arthur didn’t think he’d ever seen before.

“I can’t stand to see that look in your eyes. It makes me want to hurt whatever caused it.”

  
Arthur wanted to respond – to say something, but he was shocked into silence.

_I’ve found him. He fits._

“Fuck,” Arthur choked out, his forehead suddenly resting against the other boy’s. “Where did you come from?”

Lancelot shrugged, a small, strained laugh breaking loose. “I have no idea."

Arthur returned the laugh – then sunk to his knees, the laugh turning to something much darker.

He allowed Lancelot to slide his arms around him, the other boy not saying anything as Arthur sobbed in Lancelot’s embrace. He cried so hard he thought he might be sick – but Lance had begun making soothing noises of some sort, and Arthur was able to get his body back under his control after a bit.

He breathed, trembling, and stayed in Lancelot’s grasp a few moments more, selfishly happy to have the other boy touching him. It made him feel centered, and important. Those weren’t feelings he was used to having.

At last he pulled back, swiping a hand over his face, the skin hot and uncomfortable. He sighed, and sat on his heels.

“I’m sor-”

Lance opened his eyes wide, and Arthur’s mouth clicked shut. A smile then graced Lance’s features, and he stood, sticking out a hand, which Arthur took.

They retreated to the bench, this time sitting close together. The fireflies began to come out, and Arthur watched the black sky shine with the tiny number of stars they could see in the city.

Lancelot bumped his shoulder once, and Arthur bumped back.

Sneaking a glance at the younger boy out of the corner of his eye, Arthur found that Lancelot was watching him as well. They stared at one another until Lancelot made a hideous face and crossed his eyes. They both laughed.

Arthur’s thoughts turned inward, but not to his mother. He’d always have her in his heart.

They turned to his new friend, a person who made Arthur feel something he thought he’d never experience, or be lucky enough to find.

He felt as if he was in possession of something powerful, something greater than Lancelot, something greater than himself.

He’d be damned if he’d let it go.


End file.
